Unbeatable Boss
by live on
Summary: It was like one of his games. Just like the games. Matt saw it all coming but still went along for the ride. MxM


**Disclaimer: **Death Note belongs to Takeshi Obata and Tsgumi Ohba.

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They were going to die. Matt knew it from the start, from the first day, when blond hair and dead eyes and the smell of chocolate first swept him up all those years ago at the orphanage. He had returned the wicked smile of a boy who looked like a girl, knowing without question that he would be more trouble than anyone deserved. Matt hadn't minded. He lived for thrills that everyday life could never begin to offer, thrills that followed Mello like hopeless lovers. They were just boys then, but in Wammy's House age had never made a difference. And Matt knew that Mello had never really been a kid. No one with a mind like his could ever really experience childhood.

Matt learned quickly about the boy named Near, the little genius who hardly spoke and spent his days playing with plastic toys and pointless games. He learned that Near was number one. Always number one. Mello took second place in everything they did, Matt watching helplessly as his blond idol was eaten up inside over the competition. He never gave a second though to his own status of third in line to succeed L. That wasn't the life he wanted. But Mello, emotional and bloodthirsty, scarcely thought of anything else. 'It's like one of your games,' he'd once told Matt, 'Just like the games, when you've almost beaten it and you're at the last boss, the biggest boss, the thing you've been waiting for through the whole game. You can nearly _taste_ the victory, but no matter how hard you fight, how much you level up, all that the boss has to do is hit you once and it's a total KO. He doesn't even have to try and you're left alone, bleeding, hardly alive.'

There had been a moment of quiet, a moment Matt had wanted to fill with assurances that every boss could be beaten, and no matter how many times he tried and failed he'd never be left alone. But Mello had smiled harshly and crawled across Matt's bed in the room they shared, asking if he ever cared about being number one with his face inches away from the redhead's nose. Glancing away, Matt had then smiled and shook his head softly, replying that Mello was a boss he would never dream of beating. The older boy laughed and planted a swift kiss on Matt's cheek before sliding off the bed and returning to his fevered studies. Matt lost every game he played that night, but it didn't matter. He'd won more than the programmed love of an electronic princess.

They grew up. Most of what occurred in his time spent at Wammy's had slipped from Matt's memory, but there was one occasion that he would never forget. Mello had been called into Roger's office and neither he nor the redhead had thought anything of it. They were always getting into trouble, had constant bruises caused by whacks from Roger's cane, and were long since immune to any reprimands the old man could think up. Mello had headed off, slightly annoyed that his afternoon was being interrupted but otherwise indifferent to the situation. Matt had seen his friend off with a laughing 'Ooh, whatcha do this time?' and then settled down to play his Gameboy and snack on candy until he was sick. Not chocolate, though. Ever since he'd met Mello, he'd never been able to eat the sweet without getting sicker than the time he and the blond had stolen wine from a teacher's stash and drank until they'd nearly died.

Later, Mello returned. Matt looked up immediately when his friend entered their room, able to feel the tension like a knife to the throat. Mello said nothing for over a minute, standing stock still in the center of the room with his gaze boring through Matt's goggles. One of his delicate hands was fixed around the rosary that hung constantly from his neck; the other clenched tight until the knuckles turned white by his side. Then there was a resounding _snap_, followed by the clatter of a broken cross colliding with the floor. 'L… is dead. He… He picked Near…' He said, eyes averted, his normally assured voice shaking with every syllable. Matt inhaled sharply. No, oh sweet Jesus, no. L was Mello's hero, Mello's god, and now he was dead and Near was still an unbeatable boss. 'I have nothing. But I will prevail. I will be the best. You just fucking watch me, Matt, because some day I'm going to be number one. And they'll all be sorry.'

Matt remembered his first impressions upon meeting Mello, the idea that they would die reaffirming itself in his mind. Mello left the orphanage, Matt remaining behind to dream about his friend dying young, hard, and beautiful because he there was no other way he could do it. It was so sad. Maybe if they'd had families, or had been sent to live in another orphanage, they would've turned out all right instead of becoming the world-weary geniuses they had no choice but to be. But Matt kept face. If you knew and accepted your destiny, he mused, then you could be better prepared for what was to come. That had been Mello's problem. He never accepted anything.

Years later, they reunited. Matt had heard things about his best friend's activities, about the mafia and kidnapping and a book that could kill, but it wasn't until the blond showed up on his doorstep, drenched in blood and half conscious, that the gamer believed any of it. _'…and you're left alone, bleeding, hardly alive.'_ Matt had smiled bitterly while Mello refused to go to a hospital, remembering the words from a lifetime ago. But he wasn't alone this time, just like he'd been back when they were kids. Without questioning how Mello had been able to track him down after so long, Matt did his best to fix up the wounds and cheer up his friend when he spent hours in front of a mirror, staring at the bandages with a cold expression. 'My face is ruined," Mello stated finally, when the injuries healed and left him with a scar that stretched diagonally from forehead to chin and reached as far back as his ear. Matt disagreed. Mello was as beautiful as ever.

'Why don't you just quit all of this shirt, Mel? Fuck Near, fuck Kira, fuck everything. You could do anything you wanted. You could be happy.'

'…There's nothing else I'd ever want to do. I'll never be happy. All I can do is keep trying, cause maybe someday I might actually get something out of all of this hell.'

'You're gonna die.'

'I know. But first I'm going to win.'

Matt had wanted to say something like, 'Then let me die with you. Let me help you beat them. Let me fix whatever inside you keeps saying that you're not good enough, because you've always been better than good to me,' but Mello had already left and he wasn't that good with words anyway. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what Mello would have said; he probably would have laughed. They were working together again, Matt supposed, but deep down they both knew it was all still Mello's fight and the redhead was just tagging along for backup. But he could deal. Nothing could make Matt let Mello go off on his own like last time, let him run off into danger alone while Matt slowly died of worry and loneliness a thousand worlds away. Some nights he would climb up onto the roof of whatever hotel they were living in and scream into the dark because he was angry and sad and there was no one around to take it out on, nobody to blame. The he would sit down and rip off his goggles, freezing in the cold night air while the lights of the city blurred and clouded around him. Mello, unknowing, slept with one eye open in their bed below.

They were close. Mello knew nothing about Matt and Matt knew even less about Mello, but that was the way they knew it should be. Growing up they'd been taught to lie and conceal the truth with innocent eyes and smiles like suns, because one slip of the tongue could spell death in their world. One night Matt had gasped out the blond's name, _Mello_, eyes wide open while his nails clawed at the dirty sheets. Mello pressed a finger to the redhead's swollen lips, shaking his head and whispering _Mihael_ through the wail of police sirens from the road outside. In Matt's memory, the rest of the night was blurry and pale compared to the moment he first heard the name.

My name is Mail… But Mello wouldn't let him say it. 'Don't tell me who you are or I'll drag you down to where I am. You've still got things to live for, Matt. Don't tell me or I'll make you cry.' Mello talked big in front of everyone else, Matt knew, but he'd known the older boy for too long for him to be able to hide his real feelings. He was locked in this struggle with Near and himself, had known nothing else since before he could remember. Matt thought it was sad, but thought it was sadder that Mello didn't know the redhead had nothing to live for but his games and the sound of chocolate bar wrappers under black leather boots. The snap of crucifixes haunted his dreams, the catch of the light on shaggy blond hair filling his waking hours. But there was nothing else he'd want.

It rained once, a total downpour that blocked the view of all of their surveillance equipment and kept the two from even considering going outside. Matt had lit one up and settled down on the sagging couch to play video games while Mello coughed at the smoke and hated the smell because it reminded him of the mob and his failure and the scar that crossed his face. He sat around, cleaning his gun and sighing dramatically because there was nothing to do and Mello couldn't stand being bored. Matt ignored all this because he was far away and it was almost like they were normal and he didn't want it to end. Noticing he was being overlooked, Mello turned up the music and sat down next to Matt on the couch, peevishly informing him that he lived in a fantasy world. Matt hardly glanced up while his fingers pushed at the buttons with zeal. 'So do you.'

Some days Matt never doubted that Mello loved him. Mello would light the gamer's cigarettes and inhale his smoke-tinged kisses, then dance around the hotel room in his leather pants to songs Matt had never heard but would never again forget. He would laugh and toss aside his PSP, holding out his arms so the volatile blond could fall onto his lap, skinny shoulders shaking with his giggles. Mello would pull the tinted goggles off of bright green eyes that squinted immediately in the dim light but closed obligingly for butterfly kisses on the quivering lids. Twisting his fingers in his lover's rosary, Matt would sometimes believe that there really was a God as the wiry blond moved haphazardly against his body. But he'd spend the night feeling shattered and barren because tomorrow would be filled with planning and watching and little conversation.

Then he would change his mind and snuggle in against Mello's bare chest, smiling as the criminal pulled him closer because they both knew it was all they could do for each other.

The day came, the big day, the day that Mello could hardly wait for and Matt once wished would never arrive. It had been planned perfectly, flawless to the last detail except for the fact nothing they did ever went the way it was supposed to and all they had to work with was a bike, a car, initiative. And each other. Matt had slid his gun in his pocket with a cigarette handing from between his lips because lately he could hardly function without nicotine coursing through his veins, feeding his addiction. The line about it being for his nerves was often true, but today he'd never felt more confidant. This would work, this would happen, because this time they were working for the good side. Mello deserved to win. They both did. They could die later, Matt told himself, when they were old and gray and ugly. Not today.

Later he hit the pavement with a half-smoked cigarette clenched between his teeth, a hundred bullet holes bleeding in his torn up chest. 'Mihael…' Mail coughed out desperately. The pain was incredible and he knew that there were only a few seconds left until everything was over. He knew that he'd never see Mello again and that one thought made him hurt more than any bullet wound. Because he'd promised, promised his Mihael that he'd never leave him alone, but it didn't matter because Mihael would win and Mihael would beat his boss, and maybe Mihael would cry for his lost lover but even if he didn't Matt wouldn't want him to because Mihael should be happy. 'I'm sorry… I lo-' But the boy's last words were lost amidst the screams and street noises and the footsteps of a thousand people who'd never know what had just been lost.

He only wished that they'd been together, but it didn't matter because a few hours and one blazing church later they were.


End file.
